


I Just Can't Look (It's Killing Me)

by duplicity



Series: Professor by Day, Vigilante by Night [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Romance, Yule Ball (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23145223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duplicity/pseuds/duplicity
Summary: The next day, Draco gave Tom a skeptical look as Tom sat down at the Slytherin table.“Not the right time,” Tom insisted. “I’ve realized that I need to ask when Weasley isn’t around and hovering.”“I could have told you that,” Draco said.Tom Riddle plans to ask Harry Potter to the Yule Ball. Things don't pan out exactly in the way he expects them to.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Mentioned Harry Potter/Cedric Diggory
Series: Professor by Day, Vigilante by Night [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1545979
Comments: 27
Kudos: 466





	I Just Can't Look (It's Killing Me)

**Author's Note:**

> yes, the title is from 'mr. brightside' by the killers; no i will not be taking constructive criticism on this.
> 
> friendly reminder that this is not the first story in this universe, and the main story is linked in the series. but i think (?) you can read this without having read that one.
> 
> anyways. i have a huge soft spot for this tom and harry. :') enjoy!!

Tom was ensconced on his bed, the curtains pulled shut, when he heard one of his dormmates come into the room. He could tell based on the proceeding noises that it was Draco Malfoy.

“Malfoy,” Tom said as he reached out and jerked his bed hangings aside.

Draco yelped, legs folding, and he fell awkwardly against his bed. “What the fuck, Riddle?” Draco demanded, scowling.

“I need your opinion on something,” Tom said vaguely. “Come here.”

With a sigh, Draco picked himself up off the floor and wandered over. “That’s a lot of parchment. What is all this?”

“Plans.”

Draco eyed the spread of things laid out all over the bed. “For?” he prompted.

“I’m going to ask Harry to the Yule Ball.”

A long pause, and then: “So what does that have to do with me? I don’t even _like_ Potter. I don’t know the first thing about what you ought to do.”

“You have _taste,_ don’t you? I’ll need dress robes, and a proper proposal plan, and then the correct arrangement of flowers—”

Draco picked up one of the pieces of parchment and started to read.

“Well?” Tom demanded. “What do you think?”

“Are… _all_ your ideas like this one?”

“No.” Tom sniffed, mildly offended. “All my ideas are different and unique.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Draco set the parchment down and glanced over the rest of the sheets. “I meant more, Potter is… he’s not much for frivolity. His godfather is already filthy rich and spoils him beyond belief. I think you’ll be better off with something simple.”

Tom frowned at this. He didn’t have the same resources as a Malfoy or a Black, but he had thought he would be able to close the gap with his magical strength. There was little that he couldn’t conjure up if he wanted to, and he did have Draco around to badger for a loan if needed.

But Draco had a point; it was true that Harry didn’t care much for flashy things. Tom had been too fixated on what his own ideal proposal would have looked like. He needed to think on what _Harry_ would prefer.

“I see.” Tom waved his wand, causing all the parchment on the bed to vanish instantly. “I’ll just go and ask him after dinner, then.”

Draco blinked. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Tom said confidently. “He won’t say no to me.”

* * *

“Hey, Tom!”

Tom smiled down at Harry, who was seated at the Gryffindor table with his friends.

“Hello,” Tom said. He glanced around at the rest, noting that their expressions ranged from distrust to poorly-disguised distrust. The Weasley boy was even outright glaring.

“Did you want to sit with us?” Harry asked, heedless of the hostile environment. It was adorable that he was even asking. As if Tom would plant himself down in a den of lions without sufficient preparation.

Tom shook his head, pushing a smile onto his lips. “Just wanted to… come by and say hello.”

“Well, ‘hello’ to you,” Weasley said. “I think Malfoy must be looking for you, Riddle.”

Tom turned his smile towards Weasley. “I’m sure you’re correct,” he said, politeness straining.

“Ron,” Harry muttered, elbowing his friend. “C’mon.”

Weasley shot Tom a dark look that clearly insinuated a great deal of dislike, then refocused on his plate of roast chicken.

“Have you started on our Arithmancy essay?” Granger asked. She, at least, was making an attempt to be friendly for Harry’s sake.

“Already done,” Tom told her, and he was rewarded with a sense of smug satisfaction as a furrow appeared between her brows.

“I’m only halfway,” she muttered to herself. Then at normal volume she added, “We will have to compare notes once I’m done.”

Weasley made a noise at this, coughing as he set his goblet of pumpkin juice down. “Hermione,” Weasley said, in what he likely thought was a whisper but was very much audible to the people around them. “This is _Riddle_.”

But Tom had heard and seen enough. “You know, Hermione, I believe some people simply aren’t intelligent enough to take Arithmancy,” Tom said coolly. “And even if they were to, they wouldn’t take it seriously enough to exceed at it. I’ll see you later,” Tom added to Harry. Then he walked away without waiting for an answer.

Draco had been following Tom’s progress across the room, and he opened his mouth to speak once Tom sat down, only Tom levelled him with a glare so scorching that his mouth clamped shut of its own accord.

“Tomorrow,” Tom declared. “Tomorrow I’ll ask.”

* * *

The next day, Draco gave Tom a skeptical look as Tom sat down at the Slytherin table.

“Not the right time,” Tom insisted. “I’ve realized that I need to ask when Weasley isn’t around and hovering.”

“I could have told you that,” Draco said.

“Then you should have said something sooner,” Tom snapped. If this kept up, his face was going to set into a permanent scowl.

Draco shrugged. “I don’t pretend to understand what you see in him, and so I would suggest dropping this _entirely,_ but you seem determined to court him, so it’s your funeral.”

Tom angrily stabbed at a piece of cauliflower in lieu of a reply and ignored Draco for the rest of the day.

* * *

“I am _getting_ to it,” Tom said, not two days later, as Draco approached him in the Hogwarts library.

Draco sat down next to him. “Sure.”

“I am,” Tom repeated.

“Sure.”

“Some friend you are,” Tom grumbled. “You’re already going with Parkinson. You’re supposed to be helping me.”

“I’m paying for your dress robes, aren’t I?” Draco said, narrowing his eyes.

“Those are a gift,” Tom said. “Because of Yule, or Christmas, or my birthday. Pick one of those.”

“Yule and Christmas are the same holiday. At least, they’re pretty much the same. It’s certainly not a two-gift holiday.”

“Why are we associating with each other, if not for my ability to exploit you for your absurd wealth and your ability to copy off of my homework?” Tom asked rhetorically.

“I’m not copying,” Draco said. “I’m _referencing._ There’s a difference.”

“Sure,” Tom said. “Sure.”

Draco slouched back in his chair, pouting. Tom resumed what he had been doing, which was editing his Transfiguration essay for clarity.

“Can I see your Potions essay now?”

Tom scratched out a sentence and rewrote it. Then he tapped the end of his quill against his chin.

Draco examined his fingernails, fidgeting. Then, after a few more seconds of silence had passed, he said, “I placed that order for your corsage this morning.”

Tom fished the parchment out of his rucksack and handed it over. He and Draco had an understanding. It was good business.

* * *

Time was running out. Tom knew he had to ask _soon,_ before Harry went and made other arrangements or plans, like visiting his godfather for the holidays. Though everyone else was remaining over the break for the Yule Ball, there were a few people who _were_ leaving, and Harry could be one of them.

Tom had Harry’s schedule memorized, so it was only a matter of catching him either before or after Ancient Runes, which was the only class they had together that didn’t also include Weasley and Granger. Weasley wasn’t taking the course at all, and Granger had to take the class with the Ravenclaws due to her hectic schedule.

Ancient Runes was the last class of the day on Thursday, and so Tom took great care in getting ready for the day that morning, and he made sure to show up early in the hopes that Harry would arrive. Only Harry ended up coming in a few minutes late, which meant Tom had to sit through the entire class with his mind consumed with thoughts of asking Harry Potter to the Yule Ball.

But eventually the class ended; Tom packed his bag slower than usual, knowing that Harry would hang around and wait with him. The classroom cleared itself of students, and Tom listened carefully for the sounds of chatter fading away before he hefted his book bag up and made for the door.

Harry followed at a sedate pace, hands in his pockets, and once they were far enough down the hall, Tom reached for Harry’s bicep and pulled them to a stop.

“Harry,” he said, his fingers brushing against the folds of fabric nestled in the crook of Harry’s arm. “I wanted to ask you something…”

“Yeah?” Harry’s expression, open and honest, so damn _trusting_ , made Tom’s heart twinge in an uncomfortable manner.

But Tom flashed a smile, attempted to quell his nerves, and dropped his hand so Harry wouldn’t notice the minor tremor he was trying to disguise. “Would you go to the Yule Ball with me?”

Harry’s face fell, and Tom’s heart sank.

Tom fought back the embarrassment, prepared himself for the inevitable beratement as Harry would undoubtedly remind him that they were _just friends_ , and barely friends at that, because Tom was a Slytherin and hung out with the likes of _Draco Malfoy._

Because Tom was a ‘friend’, but probably not even a friend in the way that Longbottom was. Harry was just trying to be nice. Angry now, Tom steadied himself, ready to lash out against whatever Harry said.

Harry’s eyes were intent, his mouth creased into a frown. “I’m sorry, Tom. It’s just—I’m already going with someone. Cedric Diggory asked me.”

At that, Tom’s insides twisted and dropped away into nothing. Cedric Diggory, of _course._ Tom couldn’t have been the only person to notice how wonderful Harry was, how smart and attractive Harry was. Someone else had beaten him to asking because he had dithered for too long without making his intentions clear.

_I was a fool to ask at all,_ Tom thought. _All I’ve gotten from him now is pity._

Tom cleared his throat, averting his gaze from Harry’s. “I had only assumed that Weasley and Granger would be attending together,” Tom said, making an effort to keep his tone even, “and that you would need a partner.”

Harry’s breath came out in a quiet rush, and Tom could hear Harry’s feet scuffing against the stone floor. “Right. Well, it was still really thoughtful of you,” Harry said. “And I appreciate you thinking of me. Do you—are you still going to come, though? I could… I’d like to save you a dance, at the least.”

Tom swallowed. He was no longer sure he wanted to go. Diggory was older, and a Prefect, and a Triwizard Champion. What reason would Harry ever have to look Tom’s way, after the comparison was done? How could Tom measure up to an older boy, one handsome and powerful, the very best that Hogwarts had to offer?

“Perhaps.” Tom tried to work his face into the winsome smile from moments earlier. “I would have only gone as a favour to you, of course. So I’m not sure there’s a need for me to go now.”

“But you always stay over the holidays anyways,” Harry said, then winced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. But I’d really like you to come, Tom. It doesn’t have to be a couples thing.”

Oh, but a ball _was_ a couples thing, and Tom wasn’t about to waste away an entire evening watching Harry dance with Cedric Diggory when he could wallow in his misery in private. “I’ll think about it,” Tom said, but he didn’t mean it.

“Okay.” Harry smiled tentatively. His hand reached to touch Tom’s forearm for a moment. “I really do appreciate you asking me.”

_If only I’d asked sooner._

Tom twisted his arm away. “You’re welcome,” he said briskly. “I should return to my common room. Draco wanted to talk about Charms revision.”

“Okay,” Harry repeated, his smile faltering. “Okay. I’ll see you at dinner?”

Tom shrugged, forcing the motion to look careless. “I suppose.” And then he turned around and left.

* * *

In the end, Tom couldn’t stay away. It was horrible and terrible and the entire night would surely result in disaster, but his desire to _see Harry_ overrode any remaining common sense he possessed.

Another reason may have been that the robes he had wheedled Draco into purchasing for him were non-refundable.

“You look fine. Stop fussing.”

Tom tore his eyes away from the mirror to look over at Draco. “Says the man who spent half an hour tending only to his hair.”

“This?” Draco made a motion around his head. “Takes effort, Riddle. Perfection doesn’t happen overnight.”

Tom scoffed and went back to examining his reflection. He did look very excellent. Black was a nice colour on him, and the green trimmings made for a vibrant splash of House pride. Tom knew he was handsome, that his dark hair and smooth words and striking features drew attention.

People would ask him to dance, surely, and then Harry would see that Tom was desirable. This idea was so intoxicating that it carried Tom all the way until they reached the Entrance Hall.

Draco was escorting Parkinson, who was hanging onto his arm and whispering gossip into his ear. The sad part was that Draco was listening and nodding along. Honestly, the two of them deserved each other. Crabbe and Goyle, their usual groupies, had gone home for the holidays, which was a relief to Tom, who would have hated to be associated with them as single losers.

Once Tom was ensconced in the Great Hall, he cast his gaze about, searching for Harry. Tom was tall, so he could see over the crowds well enough, but there was no familiar head of messy black hair just yet. The Hall itself looked vastly different, but Tom paid little attention to the decorations and the unnecessary fanfare. He was here for one reason only.

Parkinson coughed, drawing Tom’s attention. “The Champions and their dates will be entering last,” she said.

Tom sneered at the sympathy on her face and walked away. He ought to find a good place to stand, somewhere where he could watch the proceedings without sticking out too much. Although, if Harry _was_ to seek him out, that would mean something, wouldn’t it? Or maybe it would just be more pity that drove Harry to find him, to see that Tom had shown up alone.

Tom should have asked someone else, he _could_ have asked someone else. Only everyone else paled in comparison to Harry, and there was no one else whose company Tom wanted tonight.

The Great Hall gradually filled with couples and singles alike, and soon the time for the appearance of the Champions arrived.

They filed in slowly: Fleur Delacour and Roger Davies, Viktor Krum and Cho Chang—

Cedric Diggory and Harry Potter.

Harry was dressed in robes of bottle-green, a colour to complement his eyes, and his hair looked as though the disarray was artful rather than unkempt. Tom drank in the sight; the confident slope of Harry’s shoulders, the smattering of colour across his cheeks.

When had Diggory asked Harry to the ball? How had Tom let his many, many opportunities to ask slip through his fingers?

When it came to everything else in his life, Tom never hesitated. Goals were achieved. Favours were obtained. Skills were sharpened and magic was made more powerful. To have failed in this made him wonder if there was something fundamentally wrong with him. He wanted Harry to be his—what was holding him back?

Music started to play, bright and cheerful. The Champions began their opening dance, swirling to the center of the floor in a blur of colour and splendour. Tom’s hands were throbbing; his hands had balled themselves up, the nails pinching at his palms hard enough to send little spikes of pain into the flesh.

Standing here, watching the picturesque scene before him play out, was torture. The exquisite kind of torture, because Tom couldn’t tear his eyes from the two of them—Diggory and Harry—spinning circles on the ballroom floor.

Other couples began to converge, thinning out the crowds along the fringes. As he looked around, Tom decided some fresh air was in order. It was too warm in here with all the people milling about in their stuffy formal wear.

The gardens outside were draped in cool air. The sun was long gone now that it was winter, but the air was still bright, somehow. Tom drifted along the rows of hedges, periodically looking up at the stars and moon. He couldn’t linger long out here; people would wonder where he’d gone.

But the cold air was nice, and Tom knew that if he were to go back inside, he would be bombarded with requests to dance. For once, he was not in the mood to curry favour amongst his peers and professors.

Ugh. He was wallowing. The exact thing he had wanted to avoid doing, avoid thinking about, because he was above all this, he was not some pining idiot. 

Tom inhaled sharply, hoping that the winter air would do his brain some good. Then he stalked back around towards the gathering, determined not to let his emotions get the better of him.

* * *

The next hour or so passed in a sea of music and dancing. Tom kept his attention fixed on his partners, kept his hand full of drink when he was off the dance floor, kept his smile bright and his eyes sparkling under the brilliant lights of the Great Hall’s dazzling decorations.

Draco and Pansy sought him out after a while, and Tom even deigned to offer Pansy a dance, which she accepted.

“You’re mighty cheerful, Tom. Over Potter so soon?”

Tom bit back a nasty retort. “You know me, Pansy. I’ll get what I want eventually.”

Pansy’s eyes squinted over Tom’s shoulder, and Tom had to resist the urge to pivot her around and see what she was looking at.

“Diggory’s a catch though, even if he’s a Hufflepuff. I’d like to see how you snatch Potter out from under his nose.”

“Diggory’s tame,” Tom said. “He won’t last.”

Pansy sighed and patted his arm. “Just don’t get your hopes up, alright? Potter’s a typical Gryffindor. The likes of them don’t get on with the likes of us. His friends hate your guts, don’t they? It won’t end well, Tom. Leave it be.”

“You know nothing,” Tom said. Something terrible was crawling up his throat and into his mouth as his eyes narrowed. “I told you, _Parkinson._ I’ll get what I want in the end. No matter what.” 

Tom wasn’t even sure what was prompting the words to fall out of his mouth, all he could feel was his anger and humiliation rising up in his chest, determined to prove her wrong. Determined to prove everyone wrong. Everyone who had thought he would amount to nothing.

_Everyone except Harry._

Because Harry saw him, understood him. Harry had met him that first day on the Hogwarts Express over four years ago and extended a hand of friendship without a second thought because he could see that Tom was worthy of friendship and more.

“If you say so, Tom.” Pansy dropped her eyes, turned her head towards the crowd. “He’s looking at you,” she said, soft as whisper, yet also louder than the sound of a knut dropping in an empty room.

The song drew to a close, and Pansy dropped her arms, stepping back. Tom heard a roaring wind in his ears as he whirled around, searching—

Harry was there, right on the edge of the crowd, Cedric Diggory nowhere in sight, and he was looking at Tom.

Before he knew what he was going to do or where he was even going, Tom found himself standing there in front of Harry, his hand outstretched, the invitation dripping off his lips…

“Harry, I do believe you said you would save me a dance.”

Harry beamed. Gorgeously so, with a smile that lit up his eyes; his entire face was suddenly aglow with happiness that Tom had put there with his simple request.

“I did,” Harry said, and he placed his hand in Tom’s, allowing himself to be swept towards the ballroom floor.

They danced in silence for a while, with Tom leading them in time to the music, eyes fixed on Harry’s face, savouring the moment. There was only the two of them here, and Tom could forget everything else, forget that anyone else existed.

“I didn’t see you when I came in,” Harry said. “I thought maybe you decided not to come.”

Tom kept his expression neutral. “Someone had to ensure Draco and Pansy behaved themselves.”

Harry scrunched his face up. “I don’t want to hear about those two sucking faces, Tom. Gross.”

Tom laughed, a quiet chuckle that surprised even him. “I won’t go into detail. Promise. This dance is just for you and I.”

“Mmm.” Harry shuffled a little closer, his hands gripping a little tighter. Or maybe Tom was only imagining those things as he swung them in another spin.

“You look very nice tonight,” Tom added. “The green suits you. Very Slytherin.”

Harry smiled at that. “There’s something I’ve never told anyone, you know. Not a single soul.”

Tom’s heart sped up, but he raised his brows in question, not daring to speak lest his excitement give him away.

“I was almost sorted into Slytherin.”

Tom nearly tripped over his own feet, a move that would have sent them both spiralling to the ground. “You—what?” Tom asked, baffled.

“The Sorting Hat offered it to me,” Harry said, ducking his head. “But I said I didn’t want to.”

“But _why?_ ” Tom asked, harsher than he’d intended. They could have been in the same House. Harry could have been in Slytherin, and it would have been so much _easier._ Surely if they had been Slytherins together they would already be dating, and then no one would be judging them for it.

Harry sucked in a breath. “Bellatrix Lestrange was in Slytherin. I didn’t—I couldn’t go there. My parents were both Gryffindors, and Sirius, and Remus, and I—I just couldn’t, you know? I was sort of panicking up there.”

Tom softened immediately. “Of course. I understand.” He did, though a part of him still wished that events had gone differently.

The song sped up, rising in pitch and tempo, and Tom struggled to keep in time with it while his mind spun with the implications of what Harry had just confided in him. They would be finished dancing soon, and Tom would have to relinquish Harry into the care of Cedric Diggory. 

“You’ve never told anyone before,” Tom said as the song began to slow once more. “But you’ve told me.”

“Because I knew you’d understand,” Harry said. “And I wanted you to know that you don’t need to define yourself by your House. I know Ron gives you hell for it, mostly because he’s been raised in a family of Gryffindors and hasn’t learned any better yet. But I promise I’m never going to judge you for being a Slytherin, Tom. I know you’re more than what Slytherins are known for.”

Tom swallowed. His heart had slowed from its rapid pace, only now it was beating so terribly hard that it was throbbing within the confines of his chest.

The song ended, sliding them into silence once more. Neither of them pulled away from each other.

Tom forced his lips to move. “Thank you for the dance, Harry.”

“Of course,” Harry said. “We could, um, go again. If you like. I’m sure there are people lining up to dance with Cedric. Figure I’d give them a chance at it.”

At the mention of Diggory, Tom felt a strange numbness spread up his spine. “No,” he said, though the words sounded distant to himself. “You should go back to your date.” The last word was said with no malice, only an abrupt sense of finality.

Harry looked sad, which made _no sense,_ because Harry had agreed to go with Diggory, the Hogwarts Champion, the student who was on his way to being Head Boy next year. Harry had already made his choice, and therefore he had no business looking at Tom the way he was currently doing.

“Have a nice night,” Tom said, coolness settling into his tone. “Enjoy dancing with Cedric.”

Harry stared for a long moment. Another song had already started, and they were still standing, frozen, just on the edge of the dance floor. “Um. Alright. Happy Yule, Tom.”

“Happy Yule,” Tom said, and he dropped his arms, pulled his hands away from the comforting warmth of Harry’s body, took a step back.

Harry hesitated, indecision writ on his face. Then he moved forward, arms enveloping Tom into a hurried embrace, Tom’s chin bumping awkwardly against the side of Harry’s head. Tom’s hands moved of their own accord to hold Harry for a split second before Harry pulled back, his cheeks pink and his eyes wild.

“Thank you for the dance,” Harry said, breathless, and then he stepped away, turning away, leaving Tom behind.

Tom stood there, dumbfounded, and then he shuffled over to where Draco and Pansy were sitting. The two of them were watching him oddly as he sat down across from them.

“Well?” Pansy said, when it became clear that Tom was not about to speak.

“What?” Tom asked, confused.

“What happened with Potter?” Draco hissed. “Is he leaving Diggory for you or not?”

“I don’t know,” Tom said. It was the truth. “I’m not sure what happened.”

Draco and Pansy exchanged a look.

“I brought some Firewhiskey in a flask,” Pansy said. “I was saving it for the punch bowl later, once more of the professors were gone, but… you can have some if you want, Tom.”

Tom shook his head at her. “I don’t need any of that. I’m fine.”

“If you’re sure,” Draco said. He did not sound as though he believed it.

“I’m very sure,” Tom said.

In the center of the Great Hall, Harry was dancing with Diggory again.

When Harry swung into view of Tom’s table, Harry smiled and waved. Tom smiled back, knowing that Harry had told Tom things that he’d never told anyone else; Harry knew that Tom was more than just a Slytherin, more than just a handsome face or a scholastic genius. Harry could see that, knew it in a way no one else did. So Cedric Diggory could not measure up to Tom when they were compared like that, and Tom was secure in the knowledge that Harry would always look to him as a _person_ first, not as a stereotype.

“Like I said,” Tom said, lounging back in his chair, at last satisfied with how the night had gone. “Eventually, I’ll get what I want. I only have to be patient. Harry knows who I am, what I can offer him. All that’s left is for him to see that we’re meant to be together. When he’s free, then I’ll ask him to be mine, and I know for certain that the answer will be yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> if you recall, harry took ancient runes specifically so he and tom could have an extra class together, only tom doesn't really know that. they're in love, they're just stupid and not quite there yet.
> 
> cedric asked harry to yule because, y'know, harry is just that great and cute.
> 
> ron and hermione got their shit together sooner in this universe because this harry is more well-adjusted and he made them get their shit together sooner lmao.
> 
> happy pi day also!
> 
> find me & my writing updates on tumblr [here](https://duplicitywrites.tumblr.com)!
> 
> feel free to join my personal discord server for my writing [here](https://discord.gg/BJRP4A5)!


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